


words he wanted to tell her

by choi_kimmy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, F/M, Natasha deserved better, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-08-10 11:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20134468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choi_kimmy/pseuds/choi_kimmy
Summary: "He understands it, even, because they are words that mirror the ones in his heart, words manifested from the decade long experience and friendship they’d shared with each other, words neither of them has ever said out loud; they’re unspoken words lingering in the air every time he visited her in the facility, every time she found herself in his embrace, every time she soaked his shirt with her tears while she willed for the pain and sorrow etched in her heart to go away."Or in other words; In the aftermath of the battle with Thanos, Steve searches the destroyed Avengers Facility for any memorabilia left of Natasha that he could hold on to, while Sam, Wanda and Carol find out that she is gone forever.





	1. Chapter 1

** _(Can you hear me, Natasha?)_ **

Steve moves around the broken grounds of what he once called his home, trudging his feet carefully across all the debris and shattered parts of the building. His footsteps are heavy, filled with an awful ache settling at the base of his heart - he thinks this feeling would last him for a long time, maybe even forever. Steve could still feel the dull throb of pain at the base of his skull, his entire body aching as a result of the battle - the battle they’ve won in general, but the battle he believes he’d lost.

No - Steve shakes his head, halting his movements when he finally reaches the section of the facility closest to his heart - he _ knows _for sure that he’d lost this battle. His eyes searches the battered ground for anything he could salvage, anything at all, anything which he could keep and remind him of -

His eyes land on something buried beneath a pile of wall fragments. His breath hitches in agony when he recognises what it is even before he takes a step closer.

** _(Every time I close my eyes, I still think of you, still wish you were right next to me.)_ **

Pale pink and worn out, clearly loved and used dearly by its owner. Her ballet shoes. 

The memory of her dancing, of her losing herself in the music and rhythm, flits across his mind in an instant. He remembers watching her from the shadows, remembers feeling warmth unfurling in his heart as she twirled and pirouetted. His heart clenches - of knowing that this will no longer be a sight he gets to see, for it has now become just a memory.

He bends down, pushing the fragments away with his gloved hands, not wanting to use his feet, not wanting to risk dirtying her shoes even further than it already is. They’re slightly damp, covered in specks of dust, some parts burnt from the embers on the ground. He carefully picks one side up, holding it in one hand as he tries to dust it clean with his other hand. The dirt don’t go away no matter how much he tries, instead, it smudges across the satin fabric of her ballet shoes.

Steve wants to scream. But he can’t find the strength to. He rises from the ground, taking the pair of ballet shoes with him.

** _(Can you hear the steady beating of my heart? Do you know that it is beating for you?)_ **

He continues to search. Almost desperately; for something more, something he could salvage and hold on to.

Steve feels the growing sorrow spreading across his stomach, a sinking feeling of despair. Everywhere he looks, he sees only destruction. All of their furniture, broken beyond repair, destroyed. All of their documents, files and papers, torn and soaked deep in mud and water from the burst pipes. 

Surely he could salvage more of her personal belongings, of that five years she’d made the facility her permanent home, even when everyone, everyone including _him_, had left. Surely there must be _something _else, a better sign of her having lived inside the walls of this facility - Steve kicks boulders and rocks away angrily, his patience thinning, frustration coursing through his veins. 

And then he hears a soft _ crunch, _the sound of glass breaking under his foot. He glances down.

**(** ** _It _ ** **_wasn’t like this before. For the longest of time, I forgot how to breathe.) _ **

When Steve removes his foot, he sees a framed photograph of the three of them - him, her, Sam. It was one of the very few pictures the three of them had taken together, when they’d reunited after SHIELD had fallen, and Na - _ she _ had proposed a crazy idea of them going to the carnival in town together, then another crazy idea of taking silly photos in the photo booth. They’d relented, only because they knew that once the Black Widow has made up her mind about something, it would be impossible to convince her to do otherwise. 

He continues to stare at the photograph, now in his hands - she was smiling right at the camera, Sam was making a funny face, and he - Steve smiles ever so slightly at the memory lingering in his head - he was just laughing. He nearly forgets how to breathe. 

To think, Steve mentally chides himself, to think he almost passed up on this opportunity, of creating another memory with her and Sam. 

He hears footsteps behind him, and before he could turn around, he hears Sam’s voice calling out to him. Speak of the devil, he thinks.

“Steve?”

He turns his head sideways, the photograph suddenly feels heavy in his hands. Wordlessly, he keeps it into the slit of his suit, tucking it safe, near to his heart. Steve gets up to greet his old friend properly, breathing a slight sigh of relief to see him in good condition, all limbs still in tact. “Sam.” 

Sam couldn’t help it, he strides forward and hugs Steve - only for a few seconds though. When he pulls back, Steve could see the grin on his face, and he just knows - he just knows what Sam would be asking him next. 

“Where’s Natasha?” The question comes out of him naturally. “It’s just that, I didn’t notice her during the battle earlier.”

The mere mention of her name nearly sends Steve straight to his knees. He wavers under Sam’s gaze, feels the bitter bile building in his throat as he clamps his mouth shut - he couldn’t, he _ doesn’t _want to answer him.

When Sam realises that Steve isn’t going to reply to his question, sees how broken he looks, he just knows. 

His heart breaks. 

** _(How do you expect me to live knowing you are no longer there beside me?)_ **

He finds one last thing lying on the ground, miraculously dry and spread open, the pages fluttering to the breeze in the air. 

Her journal.

Sam watches him in silence and in pain as Steve glides his fingers over the blue ink across the many pages. Steve allows for his eyes to linger on her handwriting, neat and cursive, even if most of what she’d written were just recounts of what the other Avengers had been doing during that five long years. Some words he could no longer decipher, the ink having bled through the pages.

Steve slowly flips to the last page she’d written. A page containing only a few words - ‘_ everything will finally change tomorrow’ _. He reads them in her voice, in her tone of excitement - the last image he has of her, of her smiling at him before saying those five damned words, washes over his mind in a split second. He nearly shuts the journal at once, the memory too agonising for him to bear. But the pages are fluttering against the wind, and they flip to another page that Steve had missed - it’s a few pages after her last entry, and his breath hitches when his eyes glide over the last words she’d written.

_ ‘When this is all over, when we have won, maybe then I will tell him.’ _

It’s cryptic, written very much in her usual style. But the underlying meaning is there and he _ just _ knows it. He understands it, even, because they are words that mirror the ones in his heart, words manifested from the decade long experience and friendship they’d shared with each other, words neither of them has ever said out loud; they’re unspoken words lingering in the air every time he visited her in the facility, every time she found herself in his embrace, every time she soaked his shirt with her tears while she willed for the pain and sorrow etched in her heart to go away. Words that at one point, _ almost _ slipped out of him when he was drowning himself in her emerald eyes; eyes which had lost their glow and vibrance but in time and in hope, had slowly came back to life again. They are words he could have told her then, before the time heist, words even she herself knew were at the tip of his tongue. 

They are words he_ wanted _to tell her, but she’d stopped him before he could even finish his sentence - she’d told him then that the time wasn’t right, therefore, they are words she didn’t think she deserved to hear, yet.

Steve feels a lump lodging itself onto his throat. At this moment, they are words she would no longer be able to hear, because she was gone forever. When that realisation hits him hard and fast, Steve could only clutch her journal against his chest, muffled tears trickling down his face. 

** _(How do you expect me to get a life first, when the life I wanted with you is now lost forever?)_ **

Wanda and Carol find him next, when he’d walked away from the facility and back to the empty space of where Tony had passed. He doesn’t see Pepper, Rhodey and Peter anymore, and most of the other heroes had already left, too. 

For some reason, seeing both women together only made him sadder - they’re reminders of the friendships Natasha had built over the years, unexpected relationships she’d once upon a time vowed not to have because she was fed with the ideas that friendships made her weak. 

Wanda stops in front of him in an instant, dread and worry strewn all across her pale face. He meets her eyes for only a second, before his gaze falters and lands on the ground instead. “Steve, please tell me,” Wanda is already choking down sobs that are coming out of her throat, “please tell me that Nat is okay.”

His shoulders slump, and Steve could only shake his head in sorrow, the journal and her ballet shoes clutched tightly in his hands. “I’m sorry.” He manages, and hears Carol advancing towards his direction immediately. 

“No.” Carol breathes out, her tone almost angry, at the same time Wanda covers her mouth to suppress her sobs. "_No._”

“It was for the soul stone.” Steve manages to elaborate, his voice hoarse with misery and grief. When he looks up, he sees that Carol had scrunched her face in realisation, in understanding of what it means. 

She shakes her head again. “I told her...I said that she won’t see me for a long time.” She scoffs in disbelief, a streak of sadness flashes across her eyes. “And now you’re saying, now you’re telling me that those...those were my last words to her?”

There’s only silence in the air now, save for Wanda sobbing into Sam’s chest. Steve is unable to say anything, and Carol blinks back hot and angry tears in her eyes. Wordlessly, she turns around and stalks off. She doesn't look back.

** _(Can you hear me, love? Can you hear me in heaven?)_ **

Steve doesn’t even hear him come in, he is cradling his head in his hands, lost in his own thoughts. Tony's funeral had just ended, and somehow or rather, Steve had found himself sitting by the lake, unmoving. All he feels is a sudden cold sensation on his arm, and he jerks his head up to meet Bucky’s sad gaze. Bucky then presses the cold bottle of mineral into his hands, and settles himself beside Steve. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks slowly.

“About?” Steve manages to reply, gripping onto the bottle tightly.

“Everything.” Bucky simply says, keeping his eyes trained forward. “Natasha.”

There’s another gush of wind that hits him straight in his heart - hearing her name these days always leads to this effect, after all. His heart is wrecked, torn apart, and every time he thinks he is getting better, the stitches on his wound unravels and he is back to square one. 

Steve clenches his jaw slightly, then relaxes. “I miss her.” 

Bucky glances at him, a small, bitter smile gracing his face. “Me too.” He replies.

Silence stretches between them, until Steve opens his mouth to speak again. “She kept me grounded to reality.” He pauses. “Taught me how to live in this century. Made me...feel things, again.” 

Bucky nods in silent agreement.

“Do you know what she got me for my birthday years ago?” Steve asks, but doesn’t wait for his best friend to reply before continuing, “A sketchbook. Told me if I didn’t pick up drawing again, she will whack me in the head with it.”

Bucky smiles slightly - it does sound like something the fiery redhead would do and say. He keeps mum, an encouragement for Steve to continue talking, to just let out what is buried deep within him. 

“Without her, without Natasha,” Steve’s voice starts to break. “there wouldn’t even be Steve Rogers in this time, only Captain America.”

“Steve…” Bucky sighs softly.

“After the first snap...after you and Sam were gone...after _ all _ that has happened,” There’s a turmoil of emotion stirring in his stomach, his heart begins to pound irregularly. “She was the _ only _ constant that I have left.”

Steve finally glances at Bucky, his best friend notices immediately, the emptiness and sorrow in his eyes. “And now you’re telling me I have to live the rest of my life without her?” He shakes his head a few times, his grip around the bottle so tight that the plastic dents in his grasp.

“Because Bucky, if that’s so, if that’s the case…” Steve says calmly, feels the tears rising within him. “Then I don’t want this life.”

** _(Because if you can, I hope you heard me. I hope you heard me when I said I miss you.) _ **

There’s a funeral for her after Tony’s.

Clint and Laura wanted to do it, insisted on having it at their home - it is also another place she holds dear to her heart, and Steve knows it. When he arrives, he sees the Barton children first. All three of them have grown so much since the last time he saw them, but unlike innocent smiles and shy grins from having Captain America in their home many years ago, their expressions now are laced only with anguish, tears streaming down Lila’s face, of losing their _ Auntie Nat_. 

He goes around to the backyard of their house and finds the rest of his friends there, meeting gaze with Clint. The latter gives him a nod of acknowledgement, and he returns it sombrely. Steve sees that Clint is hurting too, still is, and even though he’d gotten his family back, Steve could tell that there’s a part of him that is lost forever, a part that, like his, could never ever be mended. 

After the funeral, Steve waits for everyone else to disperse. He shares one knowing look with Clint, who’d given him a small smile, before heading back into his house with Laura and Bruce. 

Steve bends down at the simple grave the Bartons had set up for Natasha - nothing too fancy, just a wooden panel with her name engraved on it. He thinks she would appreciate it, if she could see it. Steve lays down the single stalk of red rose he is holding, caressing her name on the panel. 

“Rest well, Nat.” He whispers. 

** _(And I hope -)_ **

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve tilts his head up to gaze at the dark, thousands of stars painted across the stretch of the vast night sky. In that silence and somewhat serene moment, Steve hears her voice speaking to him. When he looks to his side, he imagines seeing her, seeing how she is looking at the stars with wishful thinking, eyes crinkling with hope. 

“What a beautiful view tonight, don’t you think so?” He hears her asking, her tone light. Steve remembers when she’d asked him this a long, long time ago, he’d cast a sideway glance at her, his gaze lingering on hers a moment longer than necessary, a smile spreading across his face naturally.

This image of her - with an expression of complete peace and childlike happiness, a soft smile drawn across her face, her bright green eyes gleaming under the starlight - Steve thinks to himself, is an image he will never be able to forget. He doesn't want to forget.

“Yeah.” He remembers agreeing with her, eyes still trained on her, remembers telling her a beat after, “The view is beautiful tonight.”

** _(-I hope you know that I will always love you.)_ **

* * *

**THE END**


	2. a letter to heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve decides to write her a letter to heaven that he would never deliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I was going to leave the fic as it is but then I got a sudden surge of inspiration to write the letter in full (in the previous chapter, the words in brackets are snippets from the letter) so yeah. Enjoy the angst. :')

> Can you hear me, Natasha?
> 
> It’s been months but I still cannot let you go. Every time I close my eyes, I still think of you, still wish you were right next to me. Can I be honest with you? I don’t think I can ever do that. Let you go, I mean. After all that we’ve been through together, how could you possibly expect me to just forget? To just move on? 
> 
> Can you hear the steady beating of my heart? Do you know that it is beating for you? It wasn’t like this before. Every time I wake up, I am constantly reminded that you are no longer here with me. That I am now living in a world without my partner, without my confidant beside me. For the longest of time, I forgot how to breathe. 
> 
> Natasha Romanoff, you’re the worst. 
> 
> Why did you do it? Who said you could go? Why did you leave me? Who said it was okay for you to do that? When I told you that you are selfless, that you are the bravest, I didn’t mean for you to do that. You’re the worst.
> 
> Remember when we were first partnered up in SHIELD after the Avengers was formed? That look of disdain on your face when Fury assigned you to ‘babysit’ me - that’s the word you used - do you remember how much you hated it back then, because that would mean that I was your new partner, and that you would have to relearn everything, rethink strategies, understand the way I fight, come up with new tactics so we could complement each other during missions? Remember how much we used to argue? When I said to go left, you would go right just to spite me. When you told me not to go in from the front, I still did, anyway. Remember you were so close to marching up to Fury and asking him for a reassignment? But in the end, you didn’t. I wonder why? Remember when you asked me if I trusted you to save my life? I told you that I would, now. My answer still hasn’t changed. It would never change; you know that, right?
> 
> We’ve come so far since then, Nat. You used to hide the injuries you sustained during missions from me, used to bite the pain down thinking that I didn’t notice. When I asked you if you needed assistance, you would glare daggers into my direction, sometimes even scowl at me. You didn’t let me help patch up your wounds, dress them, even though you were clearly struggling to do it by yourself. All because you didn’t want me to think that you were weak, that you were a damsel in distress. 
> 
> Oh, Nat. I didn’t tell you back then, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I have never thought you were weak, never imagined you to be someone who needed saving. You were the strongest, most courageous person I have ever met, always ready to throw yourself in the front line, never backing down from any battles or challenges. You always face them head on without hesitation, without any fear. You’ve always had this sort of unabashed confidence when you fight that no one could ever rival - not even me, never me. 
> 
> You would know that, of course. You would, since you sacrificed yourself for a _ chance _ to save the entire world. Without even knowing if we would succeed, only for a possibility that we might. You _ really _ are the _ worst _, you know that?
> 
> Slowly, in time, you began to let your guard down. You began to warm up to me, to everyone else. You allowed me to dress your wounds, allowed me to patch up your injuries. You began to show the vulnerable side in you that I was privileged enough to witness. You started crying in front of me, started showing me the pain you had so bravely hid behind your smiles. You gave me the opportunity to see past the walls you’ve built around your heart, to see that beneath all the facade you put on, beneath all that masks; you, the Black Widow, you, Natasha Romanoff, was in fact, human, just like the rest of us. 
> 
> And I hope you know that, Nat. I hope you know that among all of us, you have the biggest heart. You did not let your past dictate your future. You did not let haunted memories from your childhood taint the path you’d carved out for yourself - the path of a hero. You are a Hero, Nat. I really hope you know that. 
> 
> Natasha,
> 
> It struck me that this Christmas will be my first Christmas without you. You would always pretend to hate this festive season, but I know you secretly love it. We were supposed to watch the first snowfall together, remember? You promised to go to Rockefeller Center with me this year. You promised to finally let me draw you with Christmas trees. They say that artists do their art for themselves, for the people, for the fame - but they really do their art for one. Only the one.
> 
> You are the one, Natasha. You are my last love.
> 
> You are my home, but now you are gone. You once told me that we have, what we have, when we have it. And now, I no longer have you. Can you tell me what to do? Because without you, I’m lost. I don’t know what to do. How do you expect me to live knowing you are no longer there beside me? How do you expect me to get a life first, when the life I wanted with you is now lost forever? How can I stay here without you by my side? How can I, when I’ve lost_ my _ home, when I’ve lost _ you _?
> 
> I haven’t stopped thinking since the day you never came back to me. About all the possibilities, all the _ what ifs _ and _ should haves, _ if only I had made the right choices. What if we had given love an opportunity? I should have tried, should have insisted on trying. What if we had given _ us _ a chance? I should have asked, should have just mustered enough courage and just _ ask _ you. On days where I held you in my arms, on days where I looked into your beautiful eyes - the shade of green that shone even in the darkest days, green that is a beacon of hope that guided me home - and everything else just fades into a noiseless background. What if I told you then, that I love you? What if I told you then, that I am in love with you? I should have told you that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I should have told you that I wanted a forever with you. I should have. _ I should have. _
> 
> But now, it is too late. The word ‘forever’ is meaningless without you. Those words will always remain as words I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t. Words that you didn’t get the chance to hear, won’t ever get the chance to hear. All because I was too afraid, too hesitant, too late. I wanted to tell you that and more - but I don’t get the chance to do that anymore, now do I? Because I’ll never send this letter. Because you will never receive it. So I’m sending out this prayer instead, hoping, pleading that it would reach you. 
> 
> Can you hear me, love? Can you hear me in heaven? Because if you can, I hope you heard me. I hope you heard me when I said I miss you. I hope you know how much you mean to me.
> 
> And I hope - I hope you know that I will always love you.
> 
> Did I reach you? I hope I did.
> 
> Yours Forever,
> 
> _ Steve _


End file.
